Incidents Series Pt 15: The Revenge Incident
by MaureenT
Summary: Daniel finds out that Jack got him drunk on purpose. Poor Jack. Daniel and Jack POV. COMPLETE


**Incidents Series Part 15: The Revenge Incident**

**Author:** MaureenT  
**Rating:** K+  
**Categories:** Humor  
**Content Warning:** Mild Profanity  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Author's Notes:** This is the 15th fanfic in the Incidents Series. I would highly recommend that you read the previous parts before this one, if you have not already done so, in order to understand the plot.

This story switches between Daniel's and Jack's points of view.

* * *

Knowing Jack as I do, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he would do something like that.

When, on the morning of my twenty-first birthday, Jack invited me to go to a bar and have a drink to celebrate the fact that I could now legally do so, I jumped at the chance. I'd been eagerly awaiting the day that I could have pizza and beer with him and the other guys at the base, tossing back a few and loudly cheering and booing over a football game on TV – even though I don't like football. That's all part of being one of the guys, right? Okay, so maybe you don't actually have to do all those things to be considered a guy, but my memories of when I was this age before have made it crystal clear that I didn't do stuff like that at all back then. I didn't hang out with other guys. I didn't go cruising around in cars, or watch ball games, or do other guy stuff with my pals. Actually, I didn't have any pals. Oh, I had friends, but most of them were like me, focused on their education and their future.

When I turned twenty-one the first time around, I was a post-graduate taking summer classes and studying like crazy so that I could get the three doctorates I'd set my sights on achieving before I reached my twenty-fifth birthday. According to my file, which I managed to get a peek at, I succeeded in my goal, but looking back on it now with the eyes of a twenty-one-year-old again, I have to wonder if I would have been an all-around happier guy if I'd taken things slower and set a more reasonable goal for myself – like perhaps getting the three doctorates by my twenty-_sixth_ birthday.

The great thing about reliving all these years is that, this time around, I don't have to spend the lion's share of my time studying. All that knowledge is coming back to me without any effort at all. So, this leaves me free to do other things, like guy stuff.

Anyway, back to this twenty-first birthday and Jack's invitation. Once we reached the bar, I discovered to my great disappointment that I didn't like the taste of beer. That's when Jack admitted that I was never a big fan of the stuff. He was quite willing to let me try some other drinks, however. I shudder to think of what his bar tab must have been by the time I finished sampling drinks, and that's only counting the ones I tried before I discovered the Fuzzy Navel. I'm not sure about afterwards. You see, my favorite alcoholic beverage isn't the only thing that's fuzzy about that night. The last thing I can remember clearly is the third drink with peach schnaps that I tried after my first Fuzzy Navel . . . that is until I woke up the next morning. I dearly wish that I had no memory of that morning either. I did not think it was possible to feel that sick without being terminally ill. All I wanted to do was stay in bed until I died or until I no longer felt like I was going to die, whichever came first. Jack, however, chose not to leave me alone, telling me that I'd feel better if I got up, ate some bouillon, and drank lots of water and fruit juice. Just the thought of eating made me wonder how mad Jack would be if I upchucked on his carpet, and my bladder was already screaming to be emptied, so I didn't want to fill it any more since I wasn't sure that I was physically capable of making it to the bathroom.

When Jack wouldn't leave me be, I told him to go away or I'd tell all the neighborhood dogs to pee on his truck tires. He got this funny look on his face and muttered, "Adding insult to injury, Daniel?" I asked what he meant, but he didn't answer. Instead, he granted my wish and left me alone.

Unfortunately, I was only able to ignore my bladder for another half-hour. Afterwards, seeing that my head had not fallen off despite me being convinced that it would, and my stomach had retained its contents, I decided to take some of Jack's advice and get some water. I held off an additional half-hour before agreeing to eat the bouillon.

I have to say that I was rather ticked off at Jack for not stepping in and keeping me from drinking too much, but I figured that maybe I didn't show any signs of being drunk until well after the damage was done. I was afraid to ask what I did while I was intoxicated. I knew I probably made a fool of myself. It wasn't until after I'd finished eating that I finally summed up the courage to ask.

"Well, Daniel," replied Jack, "among other things, you tried to psychically juggle a peanut bowl and the salt and pepper shakers, then knocked a guy out cold with a shot glass when he attempted to hit his girlfriend. At that point, I decided that getting you out of there would be a good idea."

"That's all?" I asked, thinking that we were lucky that, apparently, no one saw my use of my telekinetic abilities.

"Uhhhh . . . no, sadly, that is not all. You broke my truck."

My eyebrows rose. "I broke your truck?"

"You decided to show me how much weight you could lift, and, though it is impressive that you can psychically lift a full size truck, it would have been even more impressive if you hadn't dropped it and broken the axle."

I was horrified. "I'm so sorry. I'll pay for the damages."

Jack's face cycled through two or three different expressions before he sighed and said, "No, that's okay, Daniel. You weren't entirely to blame. Just don't ever do it again."

Dreading what he'd tell me next, I asked if there was more. By the time he finished recounting the rest of the story, I wanted to go hide someplace and never come out. This was way worse than I could have imagined.

Seeing the look of mortification on my face, Jack patted my shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Daniel. It could have been worse."

"How could it possibly have been worse?"

"Well, for one thing, you could have gone up onto a hotel rooftop and peed on everyone down below."

My eyebrows went back up. "Is that something someone really did?"

"Yep, a buddy of mine at the Academy."

"Yeah, but at least he didn't get you arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

"True, but Hammond fixed it, so, as far as the police record is concerned, it never happened."

Not wanting to hear any more about the disastrous night, I went back to bed, and that's where I stayed for the rest of the morning and a big chunk of the afternoon. Seeing that I wasn't going to be up to going to work at all that day, Jack called Hammond to let him know. He was ordered to stay and watch over me, though I'd have preferred to be alone. I did end up being alone for a while when Jack took care of getting his truck towed to a mechanic.

By the evening, I was feeling halfway human again, so I had dinner with Jack, and we watched some TV. When Jack asked if I wanted a beer, I subjected him to a glare that would have scorched his eyebrows if it had possessed any physical heat.

By the next morning, I was pretty much back to normal and insisted on going to work, although, once I got there and realized that quite a few people must have found out what happened, I started to wish that I'd stayed away. I tried to ignore all the looks and little smiles and headed straight to my office. I hadn't been there for long when Sam came in.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a concerned expression.

"I'm all right, much better than yesterday."

Sam shook her head, anger on her face. "I can't believe the colonel did that. He should have known better!"

"He didn't force me to drink all that alcohol, Sam."

"No, but he should have put a stop to it instead of letting you keep drinking. This was your first time with alcohol, at least as far as you remember, so you couldn't be expected to know when you'd had too much. It was up to the colonel to be the responsible one. And I'm not the only one who thinks that. General Hammond is not happy, and Janet is furious. Teal'c is none too pleased either."

I was starting to feel sorry for Jack, betting that he got a real earful.

"Well, it's over and done with, so let's just put it in the past. I learned a valuable lesson, one that I will _never_ have to learn again."

Sam smiled slightly. "You mean no more Fuzzy Navels?"

I grimaced. "Oh, you heard about that, huh."

"Yep. I never saw you drink one before, so perhaps you never discovered that you like them."

"Well, at this point, I'm not sure if I will ever have one again. In fact, I'm not sure if I will ever drink _anything_ alcoholic again."

Sam's smile got bigger. "Oh, you say that now, but I'm sure that, one of these days, you'll say yes when the colonel or someone else invites you to have a beer with them."

"Maybe."

Sam stayed a few minutes longer, then when off back to her lab. Not five minutes later I received a summons to the infirmary, where Janet subjected me to an exam, saying that, what with my brain not working like that of ordinary people and my body on the aging fast track, she wanted to make sure that I really was okay.

"How bad was the hangover?" she asked. "Be honest."

I paused a moment. "I felt like I was going to die . . . and wished that I'd hurry up and get it over and done with."

Janet's mouth turned upward. "That sounds pretty normal."

"It does?"

She nodded. "Hangovers can vary in intensity, from just mild discomfort to some pretty severe symptoms." She asked me to describe in detail how I felt. Once I was finished listing off everything, she said, "Well, it doesn't sound like you had any aftereffects that we need to worry about. However, I would suggest that you not do that again."

"Oh, don't worry, Janet. That will never _ever_ happen again." I paused again. "So, is Jack going to survive his next physical?"

Janet frowned severely. "Yes, but only because I'd be breaking the Hippocratic oath if I did anything to him on the exam table."

I let out a chuckle. "Poor Jack."

She stared at me. "Don't feel sorry for him, Daniel. He acted irresponsibly. It was his job to watch out for you and make sure you didn't drink too much. He failed to do that."

"I know, but, like I told Sam, it's in the past. I survived – even though I was wondering for a while if I would – and nothing catastrophic happened . . . well, except to Jack's truck."

A tiny smile returned to Janet's face. "Yes, I heard about that. I guess that alone is punishment enough for what he did."

I went back to my office and to my pile of work. I'd been at it for around twenty minutes when I got another visitor.

"Ah, so there's our Pavarotti," he said with a grin.

I frowned at Ferretti. Jack had been quite thorough in describing my singing of night before last.

"Funny, Ferretti."

The lieutenant colonel settled on the corner of the desk. "So, I see you survived the hangover."

"Just barely."

The grin returned to Ferretti's face. "You know, when Jack told me that he was going to get you drunk on your twenty-first birthday, I knew it was going to be a hoot, but I could never have imagined anything like what happened."

I sat utterly still, staring at the man before me. "Jack deliberately got me drunk?"

There must have been something in the tone of my voice or the look in my eyes that made Ferretti realize he shouldn't have revealed that fact.

"Uhhhhh," he said nervously.

My eyes narrowed. "Did he?"

"Well, um . . . that . . . that was the plan."

"I see."

Ferretti quickly got to his feet. "Now, Daniel. Don't go all ballistic and do something you'll regret later. It was all in good fun. Lots of guys do the same thing. He didn't mean any harm."

"So, I made a complete fool of myself and suffered through the hangover from hell because Jack thought it would be fun?"

"No! I-I-I mean he didn't want you to have the hangover from hell. H-he just. . . ."

"Thought it would be a hoot to get me drunk."

Ferretti was looking even more nervous. "Don't kill him, Daniel. You'll feel really bad later if you do."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"Thank God." The man paused. "So, what _are_ you going to do."

"I haven't decided yet."

"Um . . . okay. Whatever you do decide to do, please, please, _please_ don't tell him that I'm the one who spilled the beans. I'm begging you, Daniel."

"I won't tell him, Ferretti."

The SG team leader relaxed. "Thank you." He backed up a step. "I am going to go now before I say something else I shouldn't say." He then beat a hasty retreat.

I stared at the empty doorway for a long time. So, me getting drunk was a deliberate act on Jack's part. That changed everything.

I've always been someone who followed the "forgive and forget" motto, but, at that moment, I wasn't all that willing to forgive and forget. Rather, I was having thoughts if a little payback, of sending a message to Jack that he was to never again even consider doing something like that.

The question is, what form should that message take?

* * *

How the entire base had heard about what happened is something I don't know, but I swear that if I learn the identity of the source of that knowledge, he will rue the day he ever opened his big fat mouth. I wonder if it could have been Ferretti. That's just like something he'd do.

From the time I entered the base, I've had to suffer through a lot of long looks, whispered comments, and more than one smirk. Yes, there he is, the idiotic colonel who got a telekinetic twenty-one-year-old drunk and ended up with a broken axle and a trip to jail because of it. I have to wonder what Daniel's had to suffer today. He's probably not in a very good mood. In fact, perhaps I should steer clear of him this morning since it's my fault that he's now very likely the brunt of jokes around here.

One thing I was not surprised about was the fallout I suffered from Carter, Teal'c and Fraiser. Since I'm her commanding officer, Carter was limited on what she could say to my face, but, oh, the look in her eyes. You know how they say that a picture is worth a thousand words? Well, the look in Carter's eyes was worth _ten_ thousand words . . . and none of them were complimentary.

Teal'c, not having to worry about rules regarding disrespecting a superior officer, made no secret of the fact that he thought I'd acted idiotically, though he didn't actually use that word. You know, being chastised by a hundred-and-five-year-old Jaffa can make even a full bird colonel feel like a little kid being scolded by his father.

And then there was the doc. She might have a lower rank than me, but that sure didn't stop her from giving it to me with both barrels. I felt like I'd been filleted by one of her scalpels by the time she was done. I guess I deserved it. One of the things she pointed out was that, what with Daniel's unique physical condition, imbibing that much alcohol could have been dangerous. I admit that I didn't consider that. It made be feel bad.

After being raked over the coals by Fraiser, I slunk off to my office, where I remained for the rest of the morning, deciding that doing some of the dreaded paperwork was preferable to the looks I'd get out beyond the confines of the room. At least I had retained my rank of colonel. For a while I'd been wondering if I'd getting busted down to second lieutenant, but, though Hammond's scathing lecture that morning made me wince, there were not going to be any official actions taken against me.

I ventured out of my office at noon and went to the commissary. As I ate, I saw that Daniel wasn't there, and I wondered if he'd already eaten or if he was going to skip lunch to avoid the same stares I'd been getting.

He still hadn't showed up by the time I was finished, so I decided to take him a sandwich. As I walked in the door of his office and he turned to look at me, I got a bad feeling in my gut. I've seen a lot of looks on Daniel's face over the years, a lot of emotions in those eyes of his, but I don't think I've ever seen them quite that shade of arctic blue before. Uh oh.

"Hey, Daniel," I said casually, pretending not to have noticed. "Brought you a sandwich." I sat it on the desk.

The fact that Daniel didn't thank me, merely nodding slightly, proved that I was in deep do do. Okay, maybe it was time for some damage control. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.

"So, you thought it would be fun to get me drunk on my twenty-first birthday and chose not to let me decide if I wanted to," he said in a voice that was way too quiet.

Oh, yeah. This was definitely an "oh, shit" moment. Ferretti, you are soooo dead! I _know_ it was you who blabbed!

"Um . . . okay, so I _may_ have had thoughts of getting you a little tipsy," I very reluctantly admitted.

"Tipsy." Daniel didn't sound convinced.

"A bit buzzed," I tried next.

"Buzzed."

Okay, so he wasn't buying that one either. "All right, so I admit it. I did set out to get you drunk, but I sure didn't anticipate the results."

"Oh, I bet you didn't."

"Look, Daniel. I know it wasn't the wisest thing I've ever done. Carter, Teal'c, Hammond and Fraiser have made that abundantly clear. So, let's just chalk it up to a momentary lapse of good judgment and leave it at that. The next time we share a drink, I swear it'll be just beer . . . or whatever one, single, solitary alcoholic beverage you choose to imbibe."

Daniel stared at me for several seconds longer, then turned to his computer. "So, are you getting your truck back today?"

"Yeah, this afternoon," I answered, happy about that fact. When I got my truck to the mechanic, I was told that they could get an axle right away that would fit it, so I wouldn't have to wait ages to get it back.

"That's good. Well, I have lots of work to do, thanks to being out _sick_ yesterday, so I'll see you later."

"Um . . . yeah, okay."

As I left the office, I had to wonder if I'd heard the last of this.

By the end of the day, I wasn't getting so many looks, and I figured that things would be back to normal by tomorrow.

I left early to go pick up my truck, then headed on home. I toyed with the idea of buying Daniel dinner to sort of make up for what I did, but I decided against it. Maybe I'd do that after he was no longer mad at me, and we could have a conversation without me being in danger of getting frostbite.

The next morning dawned clear and cold. I was looking forward to the day being better than yesterday. We'd be going out on a mission in four days, the day before Christmas Eve. Daniel would be halfway to twenty-three by then, which wasn't much younger than some of the other SG team members. I know he was looking forward to it.

I went through my usual morning routine. I was munching on a bagel when I headed out the door – and came to an abrupt stop when I saw what sat before me. My nice blue truck was no longer blue. Oh, it probably was still blue – somewhere underneath the solid layer of bird droppings. The poop was everywhere, on the roof, on the windshield, in the bed, running down the sides in messy streaks. It looked like several thousand winged creatures hovered over the thing and let loose. There, of course, could be only one explanation for this, one person who had the ability to arrange it.

I suppose I should count myself lucky that he made the birds target my truck rather than my hou. . . . Oh, crap! I quickly ran down the driveway and fearfully looked up at my roof. I almost felt faint with relief to see that it was still the right color, well, except for that moss that I've been meaning to take care of.

My eyes returned to my truck, then went to my watch. If I didn't leave now, I'd be late for work, but there was no way in hell that I was driving that truck looking like that. Cursing under my breath, I went and got the hose.

Are you aware that dried on bird poop sticks like glue? I swear that all those dang birds must have eaten concrete or something, because that's just about the consistency of the layer that was on my truck. I was going to have to take a scrub brush to the thing. I definitely didn't have time for that this morning, so I did the best that I could with just the hose and headed off to work.

The expression of the guy at the checkpoint gate would have been laughable, if I'd been in any mood to appreciate it. The problem was that I'd already seen that same look about half a dozen times – on the faces of the drivers who gawked at me at stop signs and street lights. I should imagine that there were a whole lot more such looks on the faces of people I didn't see. And that's not counting the looks I got from my neighbors. Fortunately for them and their continued good health, they were all wise enough not to ask what happened.

Leaving my truck in the farthest possible parking space from the entrance, I headed on down the elevator and to the locker room to change my clothes, which were more than a little damp and way more than a little chilling from having to wash my truck in the middle of winter. Once I was wearing nice dry BDUs, I went to Daniel's office.

"Good morning, Jack," he said with an entirely bland expression.

"Don't you good morning me, Daniel. What did you do, have every bird in Colorado Springs take a dump on my truck?"

His expression didn't change. "No, it wasn't even close to being _all_ of them."

"That was cruel, Daniel. I'm going to have to use a wire brush and ruin my paint job to get that gunk off."

"Oh, I don't think you'll have to go _that_ far."

I glared at him. "I never pegged you for the revenge type."

"Well, I guess you learned something new, then." The slightest of smiles finally graced Daniel's face. "Cheer up, Jack. There are a lot of things I could have done to you that would have been worse."

I wasn't in the mood to appreciate that fact. "So, is this it? No more acts of revenge?"

"Nope, I'm done, that is as long as you never even consider doing something like that in the future."

"Oh, trust me, Daniel. I may not be a genius, but no way am I stupid enough to ever again do something like that to you. My truck probably wouldn't survive if I did."

Daniel gave a short nod. "Good. I'd say we're done with this, then."

Having nothing further to say, I left the office.

It was perhaps a couple of hours later that, to my dismay, I came to the realization that, though the issue was over and done with as far as Daniel was concerned, the same could not be said for everyone else. The thing that had become the bane of my existence, the base grapevine, had struck again. News of my truck's new "paint job" had gotten out and was making the rounds. I had thought that the looks I got yesterday were bad, but these were much worse. Probably the only thing that kept people from chortling in my presence was the fact that I was their superior officer – which, of course, meant that those who were _not_ a lower rank felt free to chortle away. Reynolds didn't exactly chortle, but he sure was looking amused, which was quite something considering the fact that the man almost never smiles. Carter was looking pretty darn amused, too, though she tried to hide it, and Teal'c had the biggest smirk on his face that I've ever seen. I think that was the worst. It takes a hell of a lot to amuse a Jaffa, not counting stupid Jaffa jokes about dripping noses, that is.

By late that afternoon, I was contemplating strangling someone. The target of my wrath was not Daniel. I'd finally admitted to myself that deliberately getting a sweet, trusting twenty-year-old kid falling down drunk on his birthday without any kind of advance warning was a pretty mean thing to do. Considering how horrendous his hangover was, I really was lucky that he didn't do something worse to me. So, who was the man I was having visions of murdering? Ferretti, of course. I was still convinced that he was the one who blabbed that I got Daniel drunk on purpose, and he was going to pay . . . big time.

Using my Special Ops training, I hunted down my quarry. I was pleased to see that he was alone when I found him. Good. Nobody around to prevent me from killing him. Oh, wait. There was a security camera in the room. Damn. That meant I couldn't kill him. The guy at the monitoring station might see it.

"Ferretti."

The lieutenant colonel turned around with a smile. "Hey, Jack. How's it go. . . ." The smile froze on his face, then melted away as he saw the look in my eyes. A slightly panicked expression then replaced it. "Oh, God. You found out."

"Found out what, Ferretti?" I asked mildly as I took a step toward him. "That you told Daniel I got him drunk on purpose?"

"I'm sorry! It just came out! I wasn't thinking! Please don't kill me, Jack. You'll feel bad later on if you do."

I smiled nastily. "No, I won't." Seeing the look in his eyes, I said, "Relax, Ferretti. I'm not gonna kill you, though I did contemplate it."

The man visibly relaxed. "Thank you."

"Nope, I've got something else in mind for you."

Ferretti tensed back up. "What?"

I smiled again. "You'll see."

* * *

Yep, this was nice, sitting back with a beer and gazing up at the fluffy white clouds meandering across the sky. True, it was a bit cold, but I was nice and dry in my cosy down jacket. Dry was not a word that could describe my companion, however.

"What the hell do birds put in their poop?" Ferretti whined. "Super glue?"

"Mixed with concrete, I'd say," I replied. "Come on, Ferretti. Put your back into it!"

Ferretti muttered something unintelligible and scrubbed harder with the brush. I studied his progress. Yep, I'd say that my truck should be spotless in another couple of hours, just in time for me to catch the game on TV.

I sighed contentedly, took another drink, and closed my eyes, tipping my face up toward the sun. Yes, this whole thing had taught me a few valuable lessons, one being that Daniel can and did do revenge when he was mad enough, but, in the end, it hadn't turned out so bad, not as bad as it could have. After all, who could complain about a free car wash?

THE END . . . until Part 16


End file.
